


The Letter Of The Law

by Taz



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Comedy, Incest, M/M, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hercules, trying to fall asleep, gets no help from his brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter Of The Law

The king of Corinth’s bed was designed to encourage breeding a long line of monarchs. His craftsmen had turned the ten-foot posts with heavily beaded reeding. They had carved the headboard with sensual arabesques, delightful to touch. The height of the footboard had been measured to ensure good leverage. After years of devoted waxing, the Circasian Walnut glowed with a mellow patina. It would have ruptured Atlas to lift it. But it shrilled like Calliope when it rocked—as it was rocking now, on the other side of the wall. The steady pounding came right through the stucco, the lath, the headboard of the bed where the king’s brother, Hercules, was trying to sleep, and his _body_, and kept going on and on and on_…ka-chunka, ka-chunka, ka-chunka…_

Hercules pulled the pillow out from under his head and jammed it over his face and around his ears. That blocked most of the sound, but he could still _feel_ it.

 _…ka-chunka, ka-chunka, ka-chunka…_

He had told Iphicles he wouldn’t mind staying at a tavern in town. But, Iphicles had gotten ‘that’ look, the look that told the whole world that he thought Hercules considered himself such a saint that he couldn’t stay in sinful luxury when he could enjoy morally uplifting squalor. Then came,_ ‘Oh, never mind!’_ followed by the pathetic, sullen, whipped puppy look that got to Hercules every time. He’d given in. He always gave in—gods! Were they going for a Personal Best tonight?

Everyone in Corinth knew what was going on and, one of these days, he was going to ask Ares if he’d noticed an upswing in the number of petitioners coming to his temples in the morning. (Rumor had it that the god was always in a better mood in the morning.)

He glared at the wall over his head. _Wonder why? _

And the servants! He’d heard them giggling, keeping score and making book on which piece of furniture was going go next. (How in Tartarus had they split the rectory table with iron rings on either side?)

He’d wanted shout, ‘_They aren’t related_. _If they want to fuck like weasels, it’s nobody’s business but theirs._’

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he tell Iphicles that he was just, too, embarrassed?  Really, it was none of his business but…he looked down. ‘And it’s none of your business either!’ His cock waved back at him. _Right Herc! You are absolutely right…but can’t you just ‘see’ it? _And, that was the trouble, he could.

He could see Iphicles on his knees, worshipping Ares. He could picture his brother’s tongue lapping the blunt head of Ares’ cock and swallowing it whole. The image was accompanied by muffled slurping sounds and Ares’ voice urging someone to ‘take it! Suck me hollow, you beautiful bitch!_’ _

_Didn’t they realize you could hear everything through that damn wall?_

He could visualize Iphicles facedown over a mound of pillows with Ares ramming him. (That moist slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh, it wasn’t his imagination.) He pictured Ares’ ass and thigh muscles working, sweat pooling in the small of his back and hands gripping so hard they’d leave bruises the next day...

_Didn’t they realize everyone would see them?_

He could picture Iphicles on his back, bent double, legs over Ares’ shoulders, that huge cock sliding in and out...in and out...over and over...Ares keening...

_Oh, shut up!_

He stuck his fingers in his ears. He was going to pound the wall himself in a moment. Because, worst of all: Iphicles sitting in Ares’ lap, his head resting blissfully on Ares’ shoulder, glutted, all that god-cock up his ass, Ares’ arms around his waist, hands flying up and down the king’s glistening scepter...up and down..._sounds like chunks of plaster falling off the ceiling_...over and over.

Considering, how much they annoyed him individually, Iphicles and Ares deserved each other, but his own godly (Okay! _Demigodly_) cock was bouncing up and down on his belly hollering, _‘Me! Me! Look at me!’_

Hercules gave up and put the pillow under his ass, let his thighs fall open and took himself in hand. He sighed, wallowing in the pleasurable guilt of giving in to temptation. _‘Now. I need you in me now! Give it to me you fucking, selfish, cock-sucking...’ _ That was as close as close as Ares was ever going to get to begging, he supposed and sucked on the middle finger of his right hand. He thought of Iphicles plowing a furrow in the god’s ass, felt below the soft sac, inserting his finger as far as he could, then closed his eyes and let the cadence take him, pretending that it was Iphicles’ hand on his cock and Ares’ finger in his ass.

It was almost as though he were in the room with them banging out the ancient rhythm.

Next door the bed squealed like a flute, the wall echoed like a drum. And when he erupted, hot seed splattering his belly, it was a crescendo with cymbals and cannons and thunder. It flung him so far into aether that his brain was still abuzz when he came back to himself and realized that he was as bespattered with plaster dust as with gism and that those cannons and that clap of thunder had been the bed next door collapsing.

Hercules flew out of his room, without bothering about a robe. He was in Iphicles’ bedchamber a few steps behind the king’s guard, but well ahead of other guests who were stumbling out of their rooms wondering if Scythians had laid siege during the night.

“Iphicles! Iph! Are you all right?” The bed-boards had given way and the mattress had fallen through, bringing the whole works down on top of whoever had been in it. He could hear Iphicles swearing somewhere under the pile and dove in, frantically pulling up tapestries and pieces of lumber and handing them off to the guards. A cloud of feathers blew up as he found Iphicles, face down, laughing hysterically. Only Iphicles, thank...

“Herc!” Iphicles lifted his face out of the torn pillow. “What a rush!”

Iphicles still had one ankle tied to a post with what looked like a star studded black leather belt, and there was no sign of anyone else. Hercules was so relieved that he would have smacked him—if they hadn’t had an audience—and if Iphicles weren’t king. Instead, hoping no one else noticed, he unsnapped the belt and helped his brother up.

It was infuriating, but inspiring, watching Iphicles pull his royal demeanor about him along with the sheet he knotted at his waist. Plastered in odd spots with goose feathers, there was no doubt who was king, as Iphicles gravely thanked everyone who had come to the rescue party and directed the servants to pick up the mess and find another bed. Even with a thin piece of cotton with a wet spot on it wrapped around his waist, showing off the girdle of muscles above hips and the tapering thatch of dark hair pointing toward...it slipped. Iphicles just hitched it up. One of the maids giggled and Hercules remembered that he was only wearing his dignity.

At least, _he _had a sense of shame.

He stalked out, knowing that Iphicles’ smile, with just his tip of tongue showing, was following him all the way.

Back in his own room, he lit a candle, dusted off the sheets, picked the pillow off the floor and crawled back into bed, feeling sorry for himself. Why was it that, no matter what happened, he was the one who wound up feeling embarrassed?

He was finally drifting off when an arm slipped around his waist and soft lips tickled his ear. Still pissed; he pretended to be sleeping, but the tongue insisted he wake. He tried to turn away from it but his chin was taken between a thumb and forefinger. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait.” A deep chuckle hatched butterflies in his stomach.

Hercules took Ares’ hand from his chin. He kissed it and folded it over his cock. He said, “If that performance was for my benefit, it worked.”

“Not entirely for your benefit, little brother. But, if I can’t watch you doing each other, somebody’s going to pay.”

“It would be incest.”

“Umm,” Ares said, sucking on an ear lobe.

“A king should be an example of moral probity.”

“Hypocrite.” Ares stuck his tongue in Hercules’ mouth and chewed until Hercules’ lips were swollen and tingling and his hand teased Hercules’ nipples into tender little points. Hercules was moaning before Ares hand moved lower and, finally, began doing to him some of the things he’d imagined being done to Iphicles. He caught his breath as a finger penetrated him. He pushed down. More fingers began to work their way in. One of them found the sweet spot inside. He whimpered when it was gone and spread his knees.

Abruptly, Ares rolled between his legs and lifted him up, exposing him. “I don’t understand,” he said, nuzzling the opening of Hercule's body. “It gets him so hot, imagining what I do to you; he might as well be in here doing it with me.”

Hercules growled. It was a damned inconvenient time to discuss Iphicles’ hang-ups.

“What?” Ares said. “Did you say something?”

He threw his head back and closed his eyes. “Don’t tease.”

His ass tingled and throbbed as Ares pushed into him. Hands lifted him higher, Ares drapes his legs over his shoulders so that he was almost bent double. Then, Ares pulled out, until just the head of his cock was inside. Hercules waited for the stroke. But Ares bent over, until he was so close that Hercules could take each puff of breath for his own, and whispered, “Before the bed fell, I persuaded him that if you put me in the middle, you wouldn’t be touching each other.”

Ares covered his mouth, fluttered his tongue inside, and the muscles of Hercules’ ass contracted as Ares began riding him. Heat gathered at the root of his cock. He started to laugh— with every stroke Ares’ balls slapped his buttocks and the bed was thumping the wall a quarter beat behind each stroke. Ares laughing, too, and gave his nipple a twist. Then he was lost in the dark. The strokes started to come faster—shorter, harder—drops of sweat fell in his face. Hot thick fluid cascaded down his stomach and, between them, the boundaries of flesh dissolved.

He came back to himself with his legs down. Ares’ cock was still embedded in his ass, though, and still hard. He opened his eyes and rocked. A gush of semen drenched his buttocks and the sheet beneath them. He came again with the hot, wet sensation.

Ares reached under, fingering where they were joined. “This isn’t incest?”  




He stroked Ares’ face. “It’s not the same. We didn’t grow up together.”

Ares took one of his ankles, eased it carefully over his head, twisting as he manipulated Hercules body.  Briefly, they were spooned and Hercules arched, straining to push himself down as far onto Ares’ cock as possible. With a thrust of powerful thighs, Ares pulled them both upright.

Impaled, Hercules sat in the god’s lap and let his head drop back.

Hands slick with their blended seed Ares bit his shoulder and fondled him. “Iphicles is next door, imagining me, doing this to you. Tell me what it is.”

Hercules imagined Iphicles kneeling in front of them. “It’s a sacrifice,” he said, turning for a kiss. “It’s a compromise,” he whispered, starting to come. “It’s love,” he said, overflowing.

 

 

_Finis_

10/01/06

 


End file.
